Bookends

The other day, I had some kind of flash of memory in my ever changing moods. It was a childhood flash of memory to my father. Now, those who grew up with me and have known me over the years, know that my father has been non-existent in my life for many, many, many years. Not sure why, and, this is not the point of this entry. I am not one of those people that carries around pain and heartache over this fact. It happened that my father left us, I picked up the pieces and went on, end of story.

But, the older I get and the more I reflect on things, I notice that little fuzzy memories will spring up from time to time.

This one happened when I was making coffee the other morning. I think it was the aroma of the freshly brewed coffee that took me back to a time when I was young and watching my dad drink his morning coffee. He was a big coffee drinker, just like I am. I think of all the things I took from him, this was it. I just remember the comforting smell of the morning coffee.

I remember him drinking coffee when I would visit him at work and when we would go places for a father/daughter chat or visit. I remember sitting and watching him drink coffee and smoke cigarettes. I can remember the smell of the coffee, the pack of his cigarettes, the smoke drifting up from his lit cigarette.

I also started to remember my youth and how my family would go out to dinner on Friday nights. We would sit and all chat and at the end of dinner, there was always coffee ordered for my dad. I remember, at the time, being so impatient. Impatient for him to finish that lingering cup of coffee. Maybe I had a sleepover I wanted to get to or maybe I wanted to get home to Friday night tv. So, I sat and sighed and rolled my eyes and stared at the hands of my Cinderella watch as they ticked the minutes away as he drank his coffee and smoked his cigarette.

In my ever changing moods, this whole memory hit me as just really bittersweet. Thoughts of a man that I now do not know, thoughts of my childhood and the comforting images of the coffee that I bring with me in my adult life. Had I known the images would have been so fleeting, I would have been more patient as he sat and finished his last cup of coffee.

I had no idea, then, that it would be the only image that I still carry of him. I had no idea, then, that we would become bookends of sorts. Bookends of a father and daughter sharing only one common interest in life, coffee..